


Every Villain

by Fuseaction



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: mormor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:59:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuseaction/pseuds/Fuseaction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Execution day. Tragedy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Villain

Both are set for the same day. Within minutes of each other. Our executions. There won't be any press, any trial. Wouldn't want anyone to know that they've broken their own law, the hypocrites who pushed for Capital Punishment to be abolished. We'll be killed quietly, our bodies buried in unmarked graves, or maybe the same grave. No last meals for us, _nooo_. We're too dangerous for that. Too hated.

 

I sit against the stone wall feeling the chill numb my back, staring at him. He looks back, calm as ever, his hands idly twisting the fraying ends of the remnants of his trousers, his eyes bright with expectation. My sniper. Ready to the last. 

 

The long moments of waiting are cut short, the door opening, the guards filing in to surround us, pushing us, pulling us. In the middle of all of those hatefully warm bodies I grab onto Sebastian's clothes, bunching my hand in the worn fabric, his own hand seeking my wrist. No one notices this in the crush of eagerness to watch us die. 

 

We're not in a prison. We never were. Some isolated government funded hellhole. Key cards, no windows, the usual boring setup that everyone seems to favor. Sebastian is stoic as ever.  _What a trooper_ , I think and laugh out loud. Seb tightens his fingers around my wrist, returning a chuckle as we make our way to a large room, the smell of lumber making me light headed.

 

What'll it be then? Hanging? Seems so. A freshly constructed gallows sits innocently in the middle of the spacious room, looking pristine, just perfect. The unstained pine is gorgeous. I love the classics, though they can get boring after a while. I almost wish they’d come up with something more interesting.

 

"For  _me?_ You shouldn't have." The guards around me shift uncomfortably at my tone, my lyrical utterance sending chills down their spines as they move in.

 

My fingers gently release his clothing as I meet eyes with him.  _You're up, Sebby. Make daddy proud_. He nods at me. Sometimes I swear he's telepathic. Seb is pulled away from me, his grip on my wrist tightening before he lets go.

 

He's marched up the steps, his hands balled into fists by his sides.  _Don't be afraid, pet. It's not death that hurts. Just dying._

 

They center Sebastian on the platform, the trapdoor creaking slightly under his weight. He closes his eyes, one hand tapping out a beat against his thigh. I grin widely once I recognize the beat, humming a few bars of it, watching him nod his head with a smile ghosting across his features. Seb's cynical amusement is swept away once the rough rope is fitted around his neck, a flicker of uncertainty replacing it. 

 

Unbidden, I find myself pleading to speak to him before they send him swinging. I can't tell what I'm trying to accomplish with this.

 

"Remember Belgium, Sebby? The cottages and sheep? Remember how we bought a little place there for a summer and had the town living in fear of who'd disappear next? Remember how they thought it was a local criminal and they killed him for it? We'll meet up in Belgium again after this, won't we Seb?"

 

Sebastian is nodding his head, his jaw clenching as tears spill down his face, his expression struggling to remain unafraid for me.  _Oh, pet._

 

"We'll be the terror of the town again. Everyone will hide themselves away after dark, locking their doors and closing the windows. Just like old times."

 

He's shaking now. He doesn't want me to see him like this, but I can't look away. Fear is simultaneously ugly and beautiful, and just so  _alien_  an emotion to see in Seb. 

 

"Every villain needs a fairy-tale ending. This is as fairy-tale as it gets for us, Seb."

 

Seb's chest heaves as he stares straight ahead of him, psyching himself up for the inevitable. He blinks away his tears angrily, steeling himself once more, and I find that a warmth has spread in my chest. _Daddy’s proud_. Seb glances over at me, a shaky huff of laughter exiting his trembling lips. I hum to myself in contentment. He always knows when I’m thinking of him.

 

Our mutual silence is taken as the cue to carry on. The rope is tightened once more, but this time Seb is ready. His tears are drying on his face, his breathing slow.

 

The guard on the platform steps back, his hand grasping the lever. There’s a moment where everything is quiet except for the indescribable sound of the trapdoor releasing. I exhale sharply.

 

Sebby swings.

 

His body is slack, his face expressionless, his eyes half-open. There wasn’t any pain, his vertebrae separating mercifully _. He’s reached the end of his rope._ I laugh again, the guards hushed by the sound. He’s cut down and dragged away by the rope before his lazy arcs had a chance to stop, like a dead dog on a leash.

 

I walk forward, parting the guards in front of me as I go up the stairs unattended. They don’t bother to grab my elbows and haul me up. What’s the point when I’m so eager to climb up there myself? I stand on the trap door, waiting for someone to fetch the noose. No one moves.

 

“What’s a criminal got to do to get strung up around here? Do I have to do this myself?” Impatient, I walk to the edge, gesturing for someone to hand me the rope.  Wordlessly it’s passed to me. I fit it around my neck, handing the end to the guard, tapping my foot while he ties the end to the support beam. Finally everything is ready. They stare at me, waiting for final words, curses, pleading.

 

I turn my face upwards, eyes closed. For a moment I swear that I feel a small gust of air around me, and I grin to myself as I wonder whether it’s Seb waiting for me to join him. A small spot of cold forms on my cheek, just on the edge of my mouth, like the brushing of lips.

 

“As fairy-tale as it gets,” I whisper into the air, the phantom caress trailing over my mouth.

 

The grind of the lever.

 

A moment of weightlessness.

 

The rope cinches.


End file.
